Trevor Muldoon: Yes, sorry, Agent DiMaggio learned to fly . . .
Chapter 92
May 16, 2000
Tuesday, 11:05 a.m.
Naples, Florida
Mario dialed the number Trevor Muldoon had given him during their AOL Chatroom exchange.
Trevor: Good morning. Trevor Muldoon speaking.
Mario: Good morning. I am Mario Marino. We Instant Message during AOL interview.
Trevor: Ah, Mr. Marino, is it? I’ve been expecting your call. You hinted at having some information about my father.
Mario: Sì. May I come over?
Trevor: You’re asking a lot of me, Mr. Marino. I don’t even know you. You only just told me your name. You’ll need to convince me that the information you claim to possess is credible before I’ll agree to a meeting.
Mario: Ask your mother about Treblinka.
Trevor: How . . . how could you possibly know about that?
Mario: I know information on your father. May I come over?
Trevor: Alright. Here’s my address. When you arrive at the front gate, ask them to call me for access. Be here at 6 p.m. sharp.
Mario: Grazie, Mr. Muldoon.
Mario slammed the phone down, his pulse thundering in his ears like a wild drum. His fist shot into the air. “Yes!”
He was inching closer to sharing the shocking revelation that Trevor Muldoon was the secret progeny of none other than Pope Pius XII. The question that gnawed at him was whether Trevor’s mother would be there to corroborate this truth about her son. Mario wanted both of them in the same room so he could see their reactions raw and unfiltered. Only then could he be certain it was the right choice to persuade them to join his cause—to rip off the veil of deceit shrouding the Vatican and expose its festering corruption that had seeped into every corner of the world.
Chapter 93
May 16, 2000
Tuesday, 5:15 p.m.
Naples, Florida
Mario anxiously paced the room, glancing at the clock every few seconds. It was already a quarter past five, and Janet was still not home from work. He needed to reach Trevor’s gated community within the next forty-five minutes, meaning he was depending on borrowing Janet’s car. More than that, he needed to address the elephant in the room—the events of last Thursday night. He and Janet hadn’t spoken or seen each other since that fateful morning, and he suspected the impending conversation was going to be a minefield of awkwardness. As he heard her car pulling into the garage, he steeled himself and walked over to her home’s back door.
Janet drove into her garage, her mind clouded with thoughts of Mario. More than anything, she felt regret; she’d been berating herself for falling for yet another man who seemed to only want a one-night stand. She sighed, resigning herself to the fact that perhaps all men were the same. As she walked into her kitchen, Publix grocery bag in hand, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of Mario standing at the window next to her back door.
She opened the door, her voice icy. “What do you want?”
“Janet, I-I sorry,” Mario stammered.
Janet’s gaze was frosty. She felt skeptical of his apology.
“It first time. I confused what to do.”
“Your first one-night stand?” Janet retorted, bracing herself for a slick explanation.
“No, scuzi. My first time . . . ever.”
Janet’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You were a virgin?”
“Sì. Virgin.”
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place. His awkwardness that night wasn’t due to the excessive alcohol, but rather the nervousness of a man experiencing intimacy for the first time.
“I come in?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with anticipation.
“Of course, come in,” she replied, her voice suddenly warm as she opened the door wider to let him in.
They found themselves seated at the breakfast table in the kitchen, the air between them thick with unspoken words. Mario reached across the table, his hands gently enveloping hers. “I’m sorry I no tell you, Janet. I like you much too.”
“Why didn’t you come over and talk to me? I thought you didn’t care for me,” Janet’s voice broke, tears welling up in her eyes. The silence over the weekend had been unbearable, especially knowing he was just a stone’s throw away.
“I didn’t know. I meet you, but have something to do.”
“Trevor Muldoon,” she murmured, pulling one hand away to wipe at her tears.
“Sì. I go to Trevor.”
